When Fire Meets Ice
by LaValentina
Summary: Michael and Adam have moved to New York. Adam is 18 or 19 years old and he makes a few friends, and meets someone who finally captures his heart. Michael is still with Nikita she makes a small appearance. I'm bad at reviews... lol just read it please.
1. Prologue

Prologue

His eyes opened slowly as sleep gave way to consciousness. He registered that it was still dark, either night or early morning and that he had kicked off his sheets again. Gradually he heard the sound of a cello in another room. The sound was low and mournful but ultimately beautiful. _Fauré, Elégie Op. 24 _his mind recognized the piece even as he registered that he was sprawled out on the bed. He looked over to the bedside table and reached out to pickup his watch. He pressed the night light on the watch and saw the time glaring at him. _Three in the morning. What is he doing up at three in the morning? _He slid out of bed and shuffled across the room and down the hall in his plaid pajama bottoms, the cold, hard wood of the cabin floor unwelcoming on his feet. He pushed his shoulder length, black hair out of his face as he walked down the stairs, following the music in the dark. It was cold again, it registered on the skin of his upper body but dimly in the back of his mind, he knew that he had felt colder nights. The moon shone through the windows, giving just enough light that he didn't stumble. They were moving again, to New York this time. The cabin was bare, there was no sign of life there save for him and the insomniac playing the cello. He found him in the dining room and paused, wondering if this was one of the times that he should go back to bed and leave him be. He could imagine him, seated on one of the straight back chairs cello in hand. His eyes would be closed, his head bowed and his fingers moving by memory over the strings. He found the matches by memory and lit the candle. The music stopped and the eyes opened revealing jade green irises. He turned slightly in the chair, his eyes blinking slightly.

"Adam," He said, his voice rough from lack of use.

"Papa, what are you doing up?" Adam asked leaning against the door frame.

"Couldn't sleep." He replied before resuming his playing. He had aged well. The slightest of lines sprung from the corner of his eyes and his hair, though shorter had grey at the temples and peppered throughout. But his eyes were still that sharp green that could cut through any defense and see through any guise, and his body was still the lethal machine that it had been when he was in his prime. At 45 Michael Samuelle still moved with strength and grace and it was just as impossible to bait him. They looked alike, sharing long eyelashes, and the Gallic bone structure of a long face, high, sharp cheek bones, and an angular jaw. Their builds were similar; broad shoulders and chests that streamlined into hips and thighs, but Adam's longer torso set him at six foot one whereas his father hovered around six. He knew from pictures that he got his full mouth and eyes from his mother, even if the shape of them was that of his fathers. His hair tended to curl slightly when left to its own devices. Not as drastically like his fathers but just enough to form a slight wave. Other than that, its texture of straight, black, silk was his mothers.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing Adam, go back to sleep." Adam tilted his head to one side and stared at him. That just meant that it was worse than he'd thought. Michael paused and looked up at him, his face blank and his eyes leaving no room for discussion. "You have a long day tomorrow, you should get some rest." With that he went back to his cello, leaving Adam to either obey or stand there like a fool. It was the way he had always been. Him leaving him to either obey or disobey. But Adam knew that he would feel like a moron for going against something that he knew was for his own good. He hated feeling stupid, and his father knew that. Michael had always had a way of getting people to do exactly what he said and Adam had spent years trying to perfect the skill. He'd gotten close, but never as good as his father. His mouth curved into a slow, small smile and he crossed to him to kiss his head.

"Night Papa," He said and turned to go back to his room.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Adam sat in the car opposite his father and stared at the school milling with students. He looked down at his worn jeans and fiddled with the sleeve of his leather jacket. He really didn't want to go in there. Senior year at a new school after passing the Baccalaureate; it was absolutely ridiculous. He looked over at Michael with an indignant expression.

"Why do I have to do this?"

"I'm not having this discussion with you again. Get out of the car."

"I'm probably smarter and better educated than all the people at this school." He said. Michael stared at him in reply green eyes warring with brown, his face unrelenting. "There is nothing that they could possibly have to teach me." Knowing that his stalling would get him nowhere he sighed and opened the door. "See you at three," He said closing it behind him. "When my brain has leaked out of my head due to intense boredom," Michael waved at him slightly and then drove off a small smirk on his face. Adam stared at the retreating car annoyance fighting with amusement. It was going to be the most boring year of his life and his father knew it. He turned to face the building and let out a short determined sigh. These silly Americans were not going to get to him. He rolled his neck, put on his game face and walked towards the building his gait confident and lithe. He got his schedule, and made his way to his first class. _Room 333, inventive._ It was an English class and he tried not to roll his eyes remembering the guidance counselor. _"Do you speak English?" Silly woman. Did he speak English? Probably better that you, you ignorant hick._

He knocked on the door and opened it to see a middle aged woman staring at him. She was slim with choppy, dead straight, black hair that framed her face. The skirt and blouse she wore was probably from a department store but she wore it with style, and her eyes were intelligent.

"Adam?" she asked and he nodded, entering the class. She turned to the class full of students and he surveyed them. "Ok class this is Adam Samuelle, he's a transfer student from France." There was a grumble of acknowledgment, a few interested glances and some very interested stares. He met them all evenly and nodded in response. "Just take that seat right there next to Justin, and see me after class about the syllabus." He nodded and took his seat ignoring the looks and whispers. "We are going over English literature this semester Adam, the current reading is Jane Eyre. You can follow along if you wish with Justin." He nodded but made no move to do so. The teacher blinked at him and tilted her head to one side. "Have you read it already?"

"Several times." He replied.

"A favorite?"

"No, I was a fast reader on a fifteen hour flight." He replied. She raised her eyebrows in response and fought a smirk.

"Right." She said turning her attention to the rest of the class. He tuned her out and looked around at the students. It was the same thing all over again. The same characters just a different language, a different city, a different setting. Either way there was the bitchy bimbo, the dumb jock, the kid with a chip, the loner, the retard, the smart kid who answered all the questions, the cheerleader, the emo-gothic kid. There were the same cliques for the fashionable, the depressed and the artistically misunderstood. He watched them categorizing as he went. _Moron, moron, arrogant imbecile, Viper, poison_

"Hey Frenchie." He looked to his left and saw Justin staring at him. He blinked and waited half guessing what he was about to say. "You think you're hot shit huh?" _Wow_. Adam looked away focusing on the teacher. What ever this dumbass had to say it couldn't be nearly as important as the lecture.

He made it through second period without snorting at anyone and sat in study hall wishing for something to do. _Note to self, bring a book next time._ He was half lying on the uncomfortable wooden table his head propped up on his hand watching people enter and leave. One girl caught his eyes the moment she walked in. Her light brown hair was in braided into pony tails and pined on top of her head exposing her long neck. She wore a yellow T-shirt that had a cow with a badly spelled sign on the back entreating the public to 'Eat Mor Chikin', and olive green pants that looked like they would fall off of her is she wasn't wearing a belt. There were freckles on her skinny arms and across her tiny nose and something on her hands that looked like freckles. She wore headphones and moseyed her way over to the stacks jamming along to what ever she was listening to. She was thin at best with an unimpressive chest and narrow hips, but when she turned to the side he saw that she had a more than substantial behind which seemed out of place on her. Suddenly, without a warning whatsoever, she looked over at him. He ignored the minor jolt and noted that her eyes were large and a deep stone grey. Never one to be cowed easily or otherwise, he stared back shamelessly waiting for her next move. She paused and tilted her head to one side before raising and eyebrow and glancing behind her. Seeing no one, she looked back at him and started walking over. He waited, inwardly amused and intrigued as she sat down in front of him, mimicking his sprawl on the desk.

"Is there a reason that you are staring at me?" she asked.

"No." he replied.

"So you're just being rude?"

"No." At that she simply rolled her eyes and stood.

"We'll try this again when you learn English." She said and strode off. She had an interesting walk, sexy in an understated business sort of way; Spine straight, shoulders back and arms swinging, her entire body a loose, flowing line of energy. He'd never seen a walk like that in his life. _What a waste_ he thought and trained his eyes on the next person to walk through the door.

Adam stood outside leaning against a tree waiting for his father to pick him up as he listened to his Ipod. He was scouring the cars for the tiny silver convertible his father drove relishing the day when he could take his motorcycle to school instead. Then he wouldn't have to wait here any longer than absolutely necessary. Dropkick Murphy blasted in his ears as he observed his surroundings. Generally there was one person, just one person that stood out and actually interested him, challenged him. Generally it took too long to find them and he was up and migrating again, but he enjoyed the search; amusing himself with the chafe until he found the wheat. The girl from the study hall popped into his head unbidden and he frowned slightly. It was silly to think of her, even if he liked her walk… and her eyes, and her ass. He wasn't sure that he would get along with her. She seemed like a pusher, someone who couldn't take no for an answer. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Justin approaching him with his entourage. _Where are you Papa…_ he walked up to him and stood there waiting to be acknowledged. Adam stared right on ahead, continuing his search for his father. After a few minutes Justin moved to stand in front of him and Adam blinked and sighed. He started talking an Adam wasn't sure what he was saying, but he seemed to be pretty emphatic about it. He could just see his blood pressure rising as he realized that he wasn't listening to a word he was saying. He saw the blow coming and felt his headphones come off of his head. Without a word he picked them up, turned off his Ipod and waited.

"I'm talking to you."

"Yes you are." He replied.

"When I talk you listen, you got that?" Adam stared at him trying too hard not to smile to make a response. "You hear me Frenchie?" Adam glanced over Justin's shoulder, saw Michael waiting for him. He looked at Justin, picked up his bag and walked off. Adam slid into the car and shut the door

"Friends of yours?"

"B.F.F.," he replied dryly. Michael smirked and drove off. "You were late on purpose weren't you?" Michael smiled and glanced at Adam.

"How was school?" Adam pursed his lips and looked out the window.

"Pointless."

"Who's your friend?"

"Justin the hick?"

"Ah."

"I'm just not a sycophantic dish rag like he wants me to be. I was visually undressed by at least three girls upon entrance and he didn't like it."

"And modest as well," Michael interjected dryly.

"I can't help it if I have good genes in my family! This," he gestured to himself, "is your fault, not mine."

"You seem rather upset about it."

"I mean what does he expect me to do, run into the bathroom and slash myself repeatedly across the face?"

"Perhaps,"

"It's ridiculous and I'm to busy trying to stay awake in those classes to worry about what next asinine thing he's about to say."

"Adam," he started.

"I've been repressing all day, leave me alone." Michael glanced over at his son and smiled. He had a scowl on his face, he was slouched down in his seat and his arms were folded across his chest. Adam fell silent for a time and they came to a stop at a light but Michael knew he wasn't finished yet; he had just started. "Why couldn't we at least have moved to New York City? Why here? And why do I have to go to that high school?"

"You know why."

"Humor me before I start twitching." Michael closed his eyes against a wave of laughter.

"We have to keep a low profile, we are still in hiding, you are 18 therefore you are a senior in high school." He explained.

"Don't you think that it would be easier to keep a low profile in the middle of a crowded city?"

"No." he replied succinctly. A typical teenager would have screamed in frustration but Adam simply looked at him in response.

"Why not?"

"I don't like New York City."

"That's not a real reason." Adam replied. Michael waited until he stopped at another light and looked at Adam, his expression blank.

"Isn't it?" he replied. He stared at him knowing that his point was moot when pitted against his father's will, despite its accuracy.

"One of these days I will win an argument with you." Adam said and looked out the window. Michael chuckled softly and waited for the light to change, the silence comforting. Suddenly he felt Adam tense and he looked over to see him in a staring contest with a girl. She was pretty in a plain yet interesting sort of way, and she was remarkably slender, with almost no figure at all. Her grey eyes were filled with an amused challenge as she crossed in front of their car. She looked away eventually and continued on her way, her arms swinging and her hips moving with her stride. Adam watched her go silently his eyes fierce before looking straight ahead, ignoring Michaels inquisitive stare. "It's a green light." He said, and Michael looked ahead, stepped on the gas and said nothing.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He'd thought that it would have taken longer than this, but honestly he wasn't too surprised. He had managed to skate through Adam's life relatively unencumbered by the issue of 'girls'. It seemed only fitting that the one he was attracted too would be so completely unintimidated by him. He pulled up in front of their house and parked the car noting the contemplative silence. They climbed out of the car and entered the house; Adam heading upstairs to his room, while Michael headed into the kitchen to start on dinner. By the time Adam returned he was simmering tomatoes and slicing carrots, onions and green peppers.

"What's for dinner?" he asked looking over his shoulder.

"Ratatouille." He replied. "Get the herbs and the garlic."

"No chicken huh?" he asked hopefully. He missed the mouth twisted in wry amusement.

"Tomorrow," Michael replied, and Adam sighed and went about his task, collecting rosemary, basil, sage and French thyme before crushing garlic cloves with the heel of his palm and mincing them. When he was finished he showed them to Michael, who nodded in approval. "Get the wine." He said and Adam went along opening a bottle of burgundy and pulling out two wine glasses to fill. "Who is she?" Adam paused, his eyes rolling up towards the ceiling.

"Who's who?" he asked, and Michael smiled slightly before adding the onions and garlic. Adam waited as his father added the herbs and spices to the stew, hoping that he would take the hint and let it go.

"The girl whose ass you were staring at." Michael replied before turning, taking his glass of wine and leaning against the counter to stare at him patiently. Adam felt his face flush slightly as he turned away to get his glass. He sipped some wine, and turned to face his father leaning against the table.

"I wasn't staring at her ass." He mumbled, and Michael raised an eyebrow and sipped his wine.

"So she does exist." He commented and Adam shot him a look before rolling his eyes. "Just making sure,"

"Of course," he replied sarcastically. Michaels head tilted to one side and Adam glanced over at him. "What?" he asked and Michael simply stared, knowing that he was young enough to study the look and give it, but not old enough to withstand it for long. "I don't know her. We had a bit of a confrontation in study hall. She doesn't like me."

"You amuse her." Adam gave him a 'thank-you-very-much' look and drank his wine.

"I annoy her."

"No she annoys you." Adam tilted his head and met the stare head on.

"I don't know her well enough for her to annoy me." He replied evenly. Michael raised an eyebrow and then turned back to his stew, silently congratulating his son on that last remark. _Nikita would kill me if she heard that._ It was a classic Section line, delivered perfectly with just the right facial expression and tone.

"She seemed nice enough." He said, adding the vegetables.

"You got all that information from the thirty seconds that you saw her glaring at me?"

"She wasn't glaring, you were."

"I was not."

"I was watching both of you."

"And I haven't lost control of the muscles in my face."

"Set the table." Michael said. He listened to the sound of his son setting the table and smirked, knowing that he probably wanted to slam them down like the moody teenager that he was. But he didn't, he laid them down in a calm manner and then went about toasting the bread. "Why does she bother you so much?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"She doesn't bother me, you do." Came the grumbled reply and he smiled before serving the both of them. The phone rang, and the two of them looked over at it simultaneously. Michael finished serving, placed the pot back on the stove and answered it. Adam watched as his fathers face went from mild confusion to fierce longing. _It's her again…_ Michael turned away from his son, closing his eyes as he listened to her breathe. His heart clenched painfully in his chest and he felt his throat thicken. He could see her in his minds eye; short, tousled, pale blond hair, a sharply angled face with a full mouth and large blue eyes that demanded everything. She sighed and then he heard a click and a dial tone. He hung up and looked out the window praying for composure. Adam watched him take deep breaths before turning to face him. His face was a blank mask again as he seated himself. Adam said grace and then began to eat, his eyes flickering between his food and his father.

"I'm fine Adam." Michael said suddenly and Adam's head snapped up his eyes wide and slightly embarrassed.

"You don't look fine." He replied and Michael closed his eyes on a slightly amused sigh.

"Adam,"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." He went back to his food even though he had an odd feeling in his stomach. Every time she called it reminded him of what his father had given up to raise him. Five years ago the phone calls had started and it had taken three for Adam to work up the courage to ask who it was and why they were calling. Michael had not wanted to say, but Adam had learned a thing or two from his father about obstinacy and he had refused to budge, even as his stomach coiled in knots.

_The call had come just as they were finished washing the dishes from dinner. Adam sat on the edge of the kitchen table drying his hands and watched his father put down the phone. He waited, the question poised on his tongue, knowing that it would be a hard long fight to get the answers he needed. Michael turned and looked up to catch his son's gaze and paused, waiting. On some level he knew what Adam was about to ask, and he had been dreading it._

"_Papa," he started._

"_Yes Adam." Michael responded, his face falling back into its Section mask._

"_Who was that?" Michael stared at him debating lying, but refusing to do it. He had never lied to Adam and he had no intention of starting now._

"_A friend." The eyebrow Adam raised in response would have made him proud and amused any other day, but today it was a challenge._

"_A friend." He replied flatly, his face blatantly unconvinced._

"_Yes."_

"_A friend who doesn't talk?"_

"_Yes." Came the terse reply. Adam tilted his head back an inch or two his eyes going flat._

"_Tell me who that was."_

"_It's not your concern Adam." Michael replied his head tilting to one side._

"_No?"_

"_No." With that Michael turned and started wiping down the counter. Adam watched resentment coiling in his stomach. 'No you won't pull that, not tonight Papa.' _

"_Every time you get that phone call you go into a funk and I end up walking on egg shells for at least two days. You may not think that it's my business but it affects me."_

"_I'm not discussing this with you."_

"_Is it a woman?" Michael stopped and looked over his shoulder at his son his eyes stating that he didn't want to talk. "Is it a man? Have you been in the closet for the better part of thirty years?" The look he received for that question was exasperation squared. _

"_Don't be ridiculous Adam."_

"_Why can't you just answer the question?"_

"_Why can't you accept that this topic is not up for discussion?" Michael returned, turning to face him, his silver green eyes cold and hard. That was the second time in that year that Adam had seen that look on his fathers face, even though the first time had had that bitter edge of disappointment that bordered on disgust. This time he knew the motive was to bully him into submission and Michael had taught him how to deal with bullies. It was more than a little unnerving and Adam felt his palms begin to sweat. He knew better than to wipe them in his jeans, just like he knew that the only way to get past the look was to meet it head on. He hadn't done it the first time but he was more than determined to do it now._

"_Answer the question Papa." He said softly. Michael looked away, his face the picture of resentment._

"_Yes she's a woman."_

"_She's more than a friend."_

"_Yes. I knew her a long time ago."_

"_Apparently you still know her." Adam said and Michael's eyes snapped to his annoyance flashing in them._

"_Yes."_

"_Why does she keep calling here?"_

"_Because she's lonely," Michael replied the anger fading away to sadness._

"_You were in love."_

"_I love her still."_

"_Then why isn't she here instead of breathing into your ear on the phone every two months?" Adam asked. Michael sighed and turned away and Adam knew immediately. "She's from your old life isn't she? The one that gives you nightmares," There was a pregnant pause during which Adam studied his fathers profile._

"_Yes." Came the quiet response._

"_Is she the reason you left Maman and I?" Michael eyes meet his again, denial in them._

"_No Adam."_

"_But you loved her more, more than Maman?"_

"_No. I loved Elena differently but not any less."_

"_That's what people say when they don't want to admit that they love someone else more."_

"_No Adam." Michael said turning to face him, his eyes adamant. "I would have died for either of them. The decision to leave you and your mother was not made by me." Adam stared, and then nodded, looked down at the floor._

"_What's her name?" he asked._

"_Nikita,"_

"_I remembered a Nikita from when I was little. Is it the same one?"_

"_Yes."_

"_So the woman who baby sat me when Maman was sick was your coworker and lover?" he asked beginning to feeling sick. Michael closed his eyes and shook his head frustration warring with fear and anguish._

"_It wasn't like that Adam." He whispered, already knowing what he was thinking._

"_Well then how was it?" Adam asked, "Because it's not looking good from here Papa."_

"_I loved Nikita but I didn't pursue a relationship with her while I was married to Elena. I…" he paused choosing the right words. ",it wouldn't have been fair to her, or to you."_

"_But you let her into our home?" Adam stated, and Michael turned to face the window again._

"_She was in danger, she needed my help." He replied. Adam stared at him and then looked out the window as well, the question poised on his tongue. It was the only way to know, to understand and it was probably the only question he couldn't and wouldn't answer._

"_What was your job Papa?"_

"_You know that I can't tell you that Adam." Michael said bracing his hands on the edge of the counter, his eyes searching the stormy sea that surged past the cliffs. Adam watched him, saw that it was hurting him to discuss it but he couldn't stop himself. A sudden sickening thought occurred to him and he took a breath._

"_Were we a job?" he asked quietly. A pregnant silence met the question and his eyes widened, his lips parting on a sudden, needed intake of air. "Papa?"_

"_Why are you asking these questions Adam?" Michael asked his voice tired and unbearably sad._

"_I need to know."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because. My whole life has been one question after another and I never asked them, because I trusted you enough not to care."_

"_And now you don't trust me?" Michael asked._

"_No, that's not it and you know it. I'm sixteen. It's time I learned the truth of it, don't you think? It's time I know why you were gone more often than not when you were married to my mother, and why you 'died' when I was three and then came back for me when I was five, a year after Maman died." He felt his throat thicken and tears coat his eyes. "I need to know why the woman I thought was an Aunt, is really your lover, who, to the best of my knowledge, you haven't seen in eleven years and started calling you three years ago out of the blue. How does she know where we are? Do you kept in contact with her? Does that have to do with your real job? Why aren't you with her? Why do we have to migrate every year?" Adam walked towards his father and placed a hand on his tense shoulder. "Papa I…I need to understand my life. You don't know what it's like, not knowing." Michael didn't move for a full two minutes but Adam saw the glint of tears in his eyes. After a while he sighed and dropped his head, taking deep breaths. When he looked back up, out the window, the tears were gone._

"_What I'm about to tell you I expect you to take to the grave." He started; his voice rough and Adam closed his eyes in relief._

"_All right." _

"_I'm serious Adam," he said, his eyes meeting his, burning through them. "I'll answer your questions but the answers do not leave this room."_

"_I understand." Adam said a bit breathlessly, and Michael nodded and looked back out the window. Adam blinked, letting his hand fall and moving back to his spot on the edge of the table. Later on, he would recognize the weight in his chest as anxiety and fear, fear that he would regret pushing this. There was silence and Adam watching his father's back noting the extreme tension, and the deep breaths meant to give resolve._

"_I worked for an international and extremely covert anti-terrorist organization called Section 1. It was our job, my job to catch criminals and terrorists that the CIA, Interpol and MI-6 couldn't get."_

"_Oh." He wasn't sure what he had wanted to hear, or what he had expected to hear, but that sure as hell wasn't it. "Where did they recruit you?" he asked._

"_It wasn't a recruitment. I was taken, my death was staged and I was given the choice of joining or dying." Adam stared at him with wide eyes, unsure of how to react._

"_They just took you?" _

_Michael turned to face him, leaning against the sink, his arms crossed over his chest. "Yes."_

"_Why were you in prison?" Adam asked, trying to imagine it and failing._

"_I was part of a revolutionary group at the University of Paris. There was a bombing, and a miscommunication. I was trying to get the people out of the building, it blew up anyway, I was the one caught. I was sentenced to life in prison."_

"_Are you serious?" Adam asked his eyes wide with shock. Michael gave him a look and he schooled his features. "Sorry, go on."_

"_Section found me, I was trained there and worked there for ten years." He paused again, exhaled and looked down. "It wasn't an… easy place to live Adam. It was hard, the things I've done…I'm proud of some of them but not of most. Section operated under the rule 'The ends justified the means', but the means gave nightmares. You couldn't form attachments to anyone because it was thought to decrease your efficiency. The life expectancy of a Cold Op. was less than a year. It was hard and ruthless. Most of the time you never knew if you were on the good side or the bad side and the only person you could share that with was yourself. You couldn't think about what you doing and the fallout were because if you did…" He paused and Adam felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck, the momentary silence chilling him to the bone. "The only way to survive was to disengage, permanently."_

"_Like, shut off?" he asked._

"_Sort of. You learned not to feel. You learned to fake attraction, even arousal. You were taught to fight, to kill, to plant bombs. You had to play games with everyone, trust no one and lie. The things we were made to do were not conducive to emotion. You had to be cold and hard. You had to be able to seduce someone who stole unprotected children off of the streets to sell as sex slaves. Some made it, most didn't. If Section didn't get you then your own conscience did."_

"_But you made it."_

"_Yes." Michael replied, watching his face for any signs of revulsions and finding none. "Prison taught me one thing, to adapt. By the time Section got me I already knew how to live inside myself, inside my head. I was good at it. When I got to Section I had to adapt again. I had to do more than hide, I had to change, be someone else. I had to bury who I was before, lock him away and reprogram myself into a machine, no feelings, no dreams, no hopes for a future. Just cold calculation and self imposed seclusion. It was a hard lesson to learn Adam. It was long and hard and unbearable most of the time but I managed it and stunned my trainer by becoming a Level five within six months of becoming an full fledged Operative,"_

"_Is that a big deal?" Adam asked._

"_It had never been done." Michael replied, distant pride in his eyes. "I was the best there was, destined to take over but it came at a cost. They expected more from me, sometimes more than I was willing to give."_

"_And this Nikita, what's her story?" _

"_I trained Nikita; I had to make her into a Cold Op. into myself. It was harder than I thought it would be. I didn't want to break her but I had to, for her sake and for mine. I fell in love at some point, I still don't know when. At first I was begging for her life, then I was possessive and then I was a stalker." Adam fought a smirk at the mental picture. "I have never felt the need to apologize to anyone before her. Everyone expected perfection from me and she expected humanity. I couldn't give both and she hated me for it."_

"_When did Maman come in?" Adam asked._

"_I was assigned to your mother within a year of my assent. I was supposed to woo her, wed and get engaged in hopes of drawing out your grandfather."_

"_Oh." Adam said, unsure of how to respond to that sort of information._

"_He wasn't a very good man Adam, even though he loved Elena and would have loved you if you had ever met him. As time went by without any progress I was made to marry her. I never intended to have a child with your mother. I didn't want to deal with the responsibility and I didn't think it would be right."_

"_Because you would just leave anyway,"_

"_Yes. Your mother was a good woman Adam; strong, perceptive, sweet, innocent and good. I couldn't not love her and it made my life hell. Then you were born and everything got worse. I was stuck in this life that had begun as a mission, a punishment and it had turned into a refuge. I stopped seeing Elena as a means to an end and you…" He paused and stared his eyes glassy with tears as his mouth curved into a small smile. " you were always my son, always. You were my one good deed in a life time of darkness and mistakes. It nearly killed me when I had to leave you both. You should know that Adam, I never wanted to leave you." Adam felt his eyes stinging, and his throat ache as he nodded in acceptance._

"_But you could be with Nikita then."_

"_Yes. To you I was dead."_

"_If you could have chosen between Maman and I or Nikita who would you have chosen?" Adam asked. Michael looked at him, his eyes tired._

"_I would have chosen you."_

"_Me or Maman and I?"_

"_I would have taken and loved Elena as always, but I would have gone for you." Michael replied. Adam took in the information, accepted it and put it aside. _

"_So that was when you died. The mission was over."_

"_Yes."_

"_And when you came back?"_

"_I found out that Red Cell had you. They wanted to trade the head of all The Sections, Nikita's father for you. At first I thought it was me they wanted but it turned out to be him."_

"_So they traded me for Nikita's father?"_

"_Yes."_

"_I remember her. She wore black."_

"_Yes."_

"_I remember a bang, like-"_

"_A gun shot. That was when they killed him."_

"_The woman at the train station,"_

"_Yes,"_

"_I remember her." Adam said an image of ice blue eyes, blonde hair and a sad smile in his mind. "And Nikita?"_

"_She took over Section 1. And after that she takes her fathers place." Michael said. _

"_And she can't take a vacation, meet you for a couple days every now and then?" he asked._

"_It would be too dangerous." Michael replied turning away._

"_But not impossible."_

"_It would put you at risk Adam, both of us." He replied over his shoulder. "There are people who would use us to get to her, to bring her down."_

"_So she calls but doesn't talk."_

"_Yes."_

"_Are you not with her because of me?" Adam asked his eyes wide with dawning comprehension._

"_No I'm not with her because of me. I made a decision Adam. I chose to take my place as your father and give you what you deserved because I could. Before I didn't have a choice, Nikita gave me one. I love her, and I miss her and it's hard and it's painful, but I wouldn't trade it. Not if it meant that I couldn't see you grow, not if it meant you being alone when I could and should have been there."_

"_And we move every year because,"_

"_It's not safe to stay in one place. There are dangerous men hunting me as well. They would hesitate to kill you Adam, or to use you against me. That's part of why you and Elena couldn't know that I was still alive. If you had and I established contact with you it would be an advantage over me. And it would have put you at unimaginable risk."_

"_So now she can't contact you." Adam said softly, feeling the weight of his father's choice on his shoulders._

"_You chose me." Adam whispered his eyes full of tears._

"_Adam," Michael started, shaking his head._

"_You chose me." He repeated and Michael looked him in the eye._

"_I chose you." He replied softly, and Adam tried to breathe, feeling as if his lungs were crushed in a vice._

"_And she forgave you."_

"_She understood that unless I was dead there was no other option." Adam stared at him, his heart breaking for his father loss. He'd known that his father was a quiet thoughtful man, a powerful one. But he had always attributed it to character and the way he was. He had never dreamed that this personality had been forced upon him, or that his life had been so horrifying and lonely. It seemed as though every step had wrought more bad than good, more pain than happiness. And the final sacrifice, giving up his love, the woman he had seemingly waited forever for, the one he had fought so hard to be with, for him; to be with him, to give him what he couldn't have given without her sacrifice._

"_Papa," his voice cracked, tears rolled down his cheeks and Michael pulled him into his arms tightly._

"_Don't. You asked and I told you, that's it." Adam squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in the scent of sandalwood and sage that he'd always associated with his father and safety. He clung to him, feeling like a little boy again and he didn't know why. His father had traded happiness for contentment, and even though he knew how much he loved him, and that he would slap him for thinking such things, he'd traded love for duty. He didn't know how to repay him and he didn't know how he'd ever live up to that kind of a sacrifice. He wanted to thank him but he knew that he would find it offensive. If only he could understand what it meant to know that not only did he trust him with the information, but that he would make that kind of sacrifice for him. In that moment, he swore that he would never let his father down. Not when the price of fatherhood had been so dear._

"_I love you Papa." He whispered fiercely, hoping that the three words would say all that he could not._

Adam glanced at the wall next to his room, listening to the sounds of his father playing his favorite piece. The piece that he'd used to lull him to sleep as a child when he'd been wakeful or had had nightmares. Now he used it as a balm for his soul, a form of expression when words failed and impulses could not be acted on. He looked down at his book and continued to read until his eyes drooped signaling that it was time for him to sleep. All the while his father played on, oblivious to all but his aching heart.


End file.
